


buy my way to talk to god so he can live with what I'm not

by thisismy_design (thisismydesignn)



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:21:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismy_design
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't used to wanting things that money can't buy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	buy my way to talk to god so he can live with what I'm not

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [我买通天使向上帝告解，说服他容忍我残缺的一切](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832482) by [MrKakuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrKakuya/pseuds/MrKakuya)



> My immediate reaction to The Amazing Spider-Man 2 trailer: Dane DeHaan as Harry! Shipping it already! Let's write fic! So this happened, though it became more of a Harry character study than anything else.
> 
> Title from "Don't Stop" by Innerpartysystem; warning for excessive use of run-on sentences.

_“Peter Parker.”_

_“Harry Osborn.”_

The awkward silence lasts only as long as it takes Harry to descend the staircase before Peter’s pulling him into a tight hug, still all gangly limbs and overt affection, just like when they were kids. There’s now a grace to his movements, though, a deliberation he’d always lacked before. Harry lets himself be pulled in, and he’s almost surprised at his own willingness: he’s gotten good (too good, perhaps) at holding people at arm’s length, wary of those who are only after his trust fund. But it’s _Peter_ , and they’ve hardly spoken in years but here he is, arms around Harry like nothing’s changed.

Of course, everything has, and Harry smoothes out his jacket as he steps back, runs a hand through his hair, smiles the way he’s practiced for so long. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

(Too good, perhaps.)

\---

Peter’s always stepping too close, arm around his shoulders, laughter loud in Harry’s ear— but he couldn’t possibly know, could he? So Harry takes it all in stride, deflects expertly, feigns shock that Peter and Gwen finally _(finally)_ hooked up, and it’s all so refreshingly _normal_ — or as close as Harry gets— that he’s unsure how to behave.

At least until Peter accompanies him to OsCorp, and the tables turn altogether.

Here Harry is in charge, in his element: he’s not the kid who grew up too fast, lonely and overly ambitious, but exactly where he should be. He’s not a disappointment, but his father’s son— or as close as he’ll ever be. Peter, on the other hand, is jumpy, cautious, and Harry’s curious but he doesn’t ask. He needs to set the stage first: the spotlight is on him, and he’s not ready to give it up just yet.

\---

Later, Harry will catch himself thinking of the edge of Peter’s smile, his steady hands and how he never quite seems to sit still; he’ll keep thinking until his father’s voice creeps into the back of his mind and his cheeks burn red with shame, even where no one can see.

He’ll dress quickly, impeccably, and make his way to the nearest bar; drink until a pretty twentysomething drapes herself over him and whispers in his ear.

He’ll lead her down the street as she giggles, clutches his hand and wonders aloud if they’ll run into Spider-Man, and he won’t hear a word, caught up in remembering the warmth of Peter’s eyes, the way he’d said Harry’s name.

(He’ll imagine him gasping it instead, warm slick skin and fumbling hands between them like all those nights at boarding school no one ever discussed, poor substitutes for desires that lingered hundreds of miles away.)

He’ll kiss the girl, pressing her up against the front door none too gently as she trembles, moans— and it’ll be nowhere near enough. Still he’ll follow through, because he’s _Harry Osborn_ and the bedroom is just another stage where he has to shine. He’ll always disappoint dear old dad in the end, but he may as well earn a reputation he can be proud of along the way.

\---

The next time Harry sees Peter, his eyes dart to his lips out of his control. He remembers the girl’s mouth and how he’d been thinking of someone else altogether; takes a deep breath and smiles instead, the curve of his lips walking a razor’s edge between genuine and false.

It’s the smile Peter never knows how to return, and Harry likes watching him squirm.

\---

He hardly thinks of it, except for always: it’s worst when he’s on his own, a glass of something expensive in his hand and too many thoughts running through his mind.

(He wants to kiss Peter, wants to take him apart; taste Parker’s secrets on the tip of his tongue and feel them beneath his fingers, trace the years he missed through scars and stories.)

But that’s no longer who he is, who _they_ are, and even as they grow closer it’s never enough. Peter takes one step forward and Harry two back, his desires hidden away in a box under his bed with battered action figures that still gleam in the dim light like the first time Harry saw Peter smile.

\---

“Not everyone has a happy ending,” Norman tells him, but Harry wonders whether it’s Peter he means. He’s wanted so many things over the years—and with his father’s money, he’s gotten nearly all—but happiness is the one thing he’s never expected, never let himself want.

He’s never thought about whether he deserves it.

(He wonders, not for the first time, if he’ll truly be free of his father once he dies— wonders if he’ll ever die, machines beeping incessantly around them, digital glow illuminating the dark circles beneath his eyes— like father, like son.)

He wonders if he’s _earned_ it, if ambition alone is enough to make up for the ways in which he’s already failed, the ways he can’t change. He imagines the look on his father’s face if he _knew,_ and the disappointment’s nothing new but no easier to bear.

Beside his father’s bed, alone in a house that’s too large, he’s not the heir to a multi-million dollar corporation, not the playboy who winks at secretaries and strides through OsCorp like he owns the place (because, well). He’s just another teenager, too much responsibility on his shoulders and too many questions, filled with doubts he’ll never voice and fears he’ll never face.

“We literally can change the world,” he marvels from his seat at the head of the table, because he’s not sure he’ll ever change himself: all he wants is to shape the future, though not his own. Peter is a reminder of a past he’d be better off forgetting, but an anchor at once. Even as Harry tries to look forward, that wide smile, that shock of unruly brown hair pulls him back, tempting him to _want_ something that money can’t buy.

\---

(So he hides behind a mask, behind a cruel smile and ambition that reaches further than he even knew. He _is_ his father’s son, in all the ways that matter, feels the blood trickling down his cheek and knows it’s the same blood that runs in Norman’s veins. The same blood that built this company and the same blood that will keep it standing, no matter who gets in his way.

If he recognizes the voice that calls out from beneath Spider-Man’s mask as one of his blades slices into the webslinger’s skin, he shoves it under his bed with broken toys and the memories attached: just another truth he isn’t ready to face.)


End file.
